Go Ask Alice
by devilberry
Summary: Lysergic acid diethylamide. More commonly known as LSD or acid. It is frequently abused for recreational use, and is well-known for its strange psychological effects. One night, Malik Ishtar takes a trip through the bizarrely beautiful.


**Author's Note:** I finished reading _Go Ask Alice_. It's an amazing book and it's so emotional and strong and beautiful and I just had to do something with the way it made me feel. I ended up with eleven pages of drugs and sex. Yay! I may continue it or just keep it as a one-shot, but the latter is **far** more likely. YGO and Alice are my two obsessions. I swear, I am a woman possessed. And, yes. Malik _is_ a slut. Read, enjoy, review. And don't do drugs. They're bad for you.  
**Pairings:** Malik Ishtar/Yami Bakura (thiefshipping), slight Katsuya Jounochi/Mai Kujaku (polarshipping)  
**Warnings:** Drug usage, cussing, slight gory mentionings, confusion, acid trips, (boy)sex, and teenage partying. (Sounds like a fun time, right?)  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Go Ask Alice, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, _or Yu-Gi-Oh! Because that _definitely_ isn't obvious.

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_After you've had it, there isn't even life without drugs…_

Dear Diary,

I've been trying to write in you for hours. I have this sick sensation in my organs and they feel so tight and stuffy and constricted and I thought that I was going to explode before I even got the chance to write my thoughts down on your pages.

I tried to scratch some words into you as soon as I got home from that party, but I just couldn't. I couldn't look at your uniform light blue lines and your neat, clean, unwritten pages without having my head spin. The blue lines would blur together and implode and explode and become an entire fireworks show. Fireworks! Right on the pages! Can you imagine? After the lights died down a bit and the brilliant blue spectacle wore off, I did my best to put my shaky pencil to the paper, but I couldn't find it in myself to form words on the page. Every line that my pencil formed somehow morphed itself. I couldn't help but draw and write all sorts of horrible things in you. I don't know how I could've done a thing like that—I've stained your pristine white pages with horrible, horrible, horrible drawings of monsters and dead things and hatred. And flames—a lot of flames. But that's all I could do. All I can do. I can hardly think, even now. I don't think I can breathe, either. But, I remember. Oh, I remember.

I don't think that I could ever forget what happened today. No matter how badly I do/don't want to.

My dear friend, I have to tell you what happened to me. I really don't know what would happen if I tried to tell anyone else. They'd probably call me insane. But I feel kind of insane. Ever since I got home, I feel like…someone else. Like I've just been sitting here and watching myself marvel over the simplest things, like the pages and the lines and my hands and anything else that I've bothered to take a good look at. Doesn't that mean that I'm sick? Ill? Crazy? Psycho? _Schizo? _That's serious. I hope I'm not any of those things. But maybe I am. I don't know what's real.

But I have to get this off my chest, because I think that if I don't, it might just explode. That's how I feel, like a ticking bomb. I hear the tick tick tick's in the back of my head with every heartbeat. And unless I pour my soul out into you, I'm going to blow. We just painted my room, and I don't think the gory red of my blood/brains/sick organs is going to look very good on it. Can you imagine if Isis saw? She'd be disgusted to find macabre crimson chunks of my insides clinging to my new purple walls. I think I'm a little disgusted just thinking about it… but only a little.

I don't know whether to be happy or ashamed. I know what I did was wrong, all of it. From beginning to end of today was all a bad idea. I know that all of it is wrong, _so_ wrong. But… it can't be _that_ wrong. It all felt so good. So groovy. So…enlightening. I've never been happier in my entire life than I was today. Who cares if it's "wrong"? Who even decides what is and isn't "wrong," anyway? And why should I care what they think?

Fuck it. I'm happy.

But now, where to begin?

_"Begin at the beginning," the King said gravely, "and go on till you come to the end: then stop."_

I went to a party at Jounochi's house today. I saw him while I was out grocery shopping with Isis and he told me to come to his house later, since he was gonna have some friends over, and apparently I count as one. I tried to act like I didn't really care, but secretly I was thrilled. I never really do much partying, and I've heard that Jou throws the best. I can't for the life of me remember who told me this, but they were right. Really, really, _really _right.

I talked to Isis about it and she smiled and gave her consent and even told me I could take the motorcycle. I don't see why we even own it; she hardly lets me take it anywhere. I guess she thought this party was a special occasion or something, which I guess it kinda was since I never really bother leaving the house.

I put on my new black pants and my favorite purple shirt and sat around and waited by the phone all day for Jounochi's call. I was half asleep on the couch with my nose buried deeply into a beaten-up copy of _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ when the phone finally rang around ten o'clock. Don't you think that's late to be having a party, diary? He told me to come over as soon as I could, and I rang his doorbell roughly fifteen minutes later.

There weren't nearly as many kids there as I thought there would be. Maybe twenty tops. And they hardly seemed to be doing anything. They were all gathered on Jounochi's rug in a bunch. Some of them were even lying right on top of each other, and that seemed weird to me then, but it makes sense now. The cold ones needed heat and the hot ones needed chill. They were all so desperate for human contact. Lying all over someone just seems so logical now.

Familiar faces littered the floor and I gave them all a small smile as they jumped up to greet me. People I barely knew attacked me with hugs and smiles and it felt wonderful to feel so wanted.

After a few minutes, I settled myself down on the floor with the rest of them. I sat next to Mai, who I knew from some classes. She didn't seem too interested in me, though, 'cause she had her hands all over Jou for most of the night.

And then this boy with black hair said a few words that I don't think I'll ever forget. "We should play a game."

Jounochi looked at him, smiled, and nodded. Then the two of them walked into the kitchen and left Mai looking high and dry. She pouted, then turned to me, as if expected me to start a conversation. I didn't even bother with her.

The came back with a tray of about twenty glasses of what I _think _was cola, but I really can't tell you for certain because I was hardly focused on the taste. If it was just cola, I don't know if I never want to drink it ever again, or if I want to drink it every day. I'm still confused. I still don't know if I'm happy or not, even though I told you I was.

The raven-haired boy, whose name I couldn't care less about, handed out the drinks to everyone, dancing and skipping about the room. "Eeny, meeny, miny, moe," He sang in a childlike fashion. "Catch a tiger by the toe.  If he hollers let him go." He smirked and gave me a glass before walking onto the next person. "Eeny, meeny, miny, moe," His tray of cups was empty, and he stopped singing to resume a normal tone and smirked devilishly. "Let's see who gets lucky tonight." And on that note, everyone lifted the glasses to their mouths and drank. I looked to Jounochi, and since he was doing the same, I figured that there would be no harm in it. So I pressed the cool glass to my lips and took a few sips of the…whatever it was.

My eyes shook and my head spun and I had no idea which way was up. Sweet little salty round beads of sweat began collecting all over my palms and I felt as though my body was growing and growing and growing. I was ten feet tall and my head smashed against the ceiling and it hurt more than any headache I've ever had. I could feel every blood cell in my body rush up to the bump that my rapid growth had caused and they all screamed and intensified the pain even more so. I felt panic run throughout every nerve of my body. I was horrified. I had lost control of my own being. Why was I so tall? Where was the rest of my body? Where were my feet!? I looked to the kids for some help. Their faces were gone. Nothing. All that was left were these blobs of color swishing around on Jounochi's floor. They were ghosts. I was terrified of them. And all they did was laugh at me. Laugh, laughha, hahahaha, laugh. I was choking on my own breath; I could hear my heart beating in my ears. The beads of sweat on my palms were trickling down and forming this weird bracelet that had clasped around my wrist and I had to scratch at my skin to get it off. I felt wetness on my fingertips and saw a blur of red, but I kept scratchscratchscratching. I had to get the damned bracelet off!

I heard the laughter of the ghosts stop, but that didn't diminish my fright in the slightest. My skin was turning warm, and warmer, and warmer, until I had finally burst out into a fit of flames. I was so enraptured in the heat of my calescent flesh that I had hardly noticed my body shrink back to its normal size (though the massive ache in my skull stayed). I had abandoned the practice of attempting to tear apart the bracelet in order to wrap my arms around myself and scream and douse the fire. I kept screaming and screaming until eventually my throat was sore and hot and on fire and I had to cry because I thought the fire was going to go inside of my stomach and char my organs and burn me from the inside-out.

You must think that I'm so weird, diary. I come home telling you that I've had the night of my life, and then I keep filing your pages with monsters and hate and fire. But things start getting better from here. Trust me.

Just as my entire body was beginning to smolder, and I _knew_ that my flesh would deteriorate into ash at any moment, I felt the fire being put out.

"First time, eh?" The fire ceases. My left shoulder was chilled—nearly frozen—and the cold aura was slowly enveloping my burning corpse. I had no idea as to what would cause this relieving sensation, but I immediately latched onto it and pressed myself as close as physically possible to source of cold. At the time, I was hardly aware that it was an actual _human being._ Ugh. How humiliating? Me screaming and crying and then cuddling up next to some _guy? _And yes, it was a guy.

"Don't worry," He placed an icy palm on my head and stroked it through my hair, dousing those flames. "I'll babysit you, okay?" I simply nodded and smashed my face into the crook of his neck and knotted my fingers into his shirt… unknowingly, of course. "What's wrong, anyway?"

My voice cracked and I gave a small choked sob and told him about the fire. He let me cling to him, and thinking back I fucking hate that I had to do that. But he was so _icy,_and I was so _hot._ The only thoughts that I could bother myself to think were coldicycoldbeautifulwant. I couldn't tell one thought from another and they were all so messy and jumbled.

All I knew was that the fire was dying and he was cold. The end.

I do remember, though, that the fire was not completely dead. It wouldn't die all the way. I pressed myself even closer to this boy's body, but nothing. All of the fire on my skin was gone, but I still felt such an incredible heat down my throat and in my organs and all over my guts and on my lips. I was positive that the flames were going to devour my insides. And no matter how close to the cold I got, the fire inside was still raging. I was certain that I'd die. I was going to die in this boy's arms in a flurry of angry red-orange unless something would douse my painful inferno.

I didn't even realize that we were kissing until I felt his tongue scrape against the roof of my mouth. I didn't even realize I was kissing him back until I felt my arms locking around his neck and the cool sensation of his silky hair sweep against my hot, hot, hot fingers.

Fire gone. Coldness. It was so beautiful. I just kept wanting more.

I pulled the chill down on top of my still uncomfortably warm form, and he knotted his fingers so deep into my hair that my scalp was beginning to cool. Why was he so cold? Why was I so warm?

Our teeth crashed against each other's and I don't remember if I was worried that mine would melt his or that his would freeze mine. His slick chilled tongue was lapping at the inside of my fevered mouth and leaving not a single inch of it untouched. I could barely adjust my mind to form semi-intelligent thoughts in between my pants and moans. The overall heat of my everything was gone. It had subdued to a pleasant warmth that I could simply lean back and bask in. It had creeped into my heart and filled it with a weird sort of affection and fondness that I couldn't help but adore. The strange effect that this snowy boy had on me was engrossing.

I was snapped back into reality when a glacial finger skimmed over my abdomen. I opened my eyes that I must've shut somewhere in between the crying and the kissing and pulled away from frosty lips. The presence of the ghosts in the room still loomed over me. I didn't know if they did or didn't have eyes, but I certainly didn't want them to become aware of the beautifully algid being that was currently pressed flush against my body.

Glazed-over mahogany orbs sent me a look. (Since when did my coldness have eyes, anyway?) My face warmed a bit, this time only of embarrassment, and I whispered into his ear the fear I had of the ghosts watching us. He seemed confused at first, and then understood what I was trying to say when I motioned to the wraithlike creatures crawling all over the rug. He peeled his pallid skin off of my tanned body and got off of the couch where we were situated. I couldn't help but shudder at the fear of the pyre returning to consume me. He quickly grabbed my wrist (this is when I noticed that my wrist was pouring blood—most likely from my scratching fit) and helped me up. I almost thought that I was going to faint when he led me through the graveyard of apparitions. As we walked past them, I heard them release a few eerie shrieks and screeches and howls. This sent chills down my spine, but it only seemed to piss the icy boy off. Eventually we reached a door, which he opened for me, and turned to face the spirits, flipped them all off, and told them to: "Fuck off." I wonder if he was able to interpret their ghostly calls? Hn.

He walked into the room, and closed the door. All the ghosts and wails and haunting screams were behind that door, locked away, and a sigh of relief that I didn't even know I was holding slipped past my lips.

He turned to look at me, and I was finally able to see how he looks and all. His hair was white; which I'm pretty sure is a weirdly unnatural color. He later told me he had some weird kind of sickness that made his skin so pale and his hair so white. I asked him if it also made him reallyreally cold, and he asked me if I was insane. I think I am, diary. I really think I might be.

He also had these pretty pretty reddish brown eyes. They almost always seem to be narrowed into a glare, but I think he does that on purpose and he's not always so mad. I don't really remember what he was wearing, because for the majority of the time we spent together it wasn't much.

He told me he was sorry about the way everyone was acting, and I must've been looking at him funny, because he had to explain to me that he was talking about the ghosts. I nodded, and he also told me all about acid.

Apparently, ten or so of the glasses of soda were laced with LSD, he told me. LSD is a drug. It causes hallucinations. He told me that the ghosts weren't really ghosts. He told me I wasn't really on fire. He told me he wasn't really made of ice, and that his name was Bakura, and that it was nice to meet me.

I told him that my name was Malik and that he was crazy and he smirked.

He grabbed my hand and pulled me over to the bed (I hadn't really taken the time to notice it, but we were in _someone's_ bedroom) and told me to take a seat. I did, and he sat next to me. Neither of us said anything for a while. I had glued my eyes to the purple comforter that covered the bed we were seated on, and marveled over it. The stitches that ran up and down the edges of the blanket and held the fabric together seemed to be moving. Up and down and up and down—like waves of an ocean. I was mesmerized by the violet sea. It was beautiful.

I must have been getting lost in the color, because Bakura started shaking my shoulders and I think he was screaming. I asked what he was doing and he had to explain to me that I was apparently laughing like a "fucking madman."

So far, all of the signs are pointing to crazy, don't you think?

"I'm fine." Was all I said and we resumed the awkward silence.

…Until he broke it again.

"Are you still cold?"

I was hot. Not cold. He was the cold. I told him.

"Oh," he said, showing off another grin. "Right. So then, are you still hot?" I shook my head no. "You sure?" The smirk never leaving his face. He moved a little bit closer to me. I could feel his cold.

Maybe I was still a bit warm? Or maybe I'm just a glutton. I crave his chill so horribly that I feel all heated just thinking about it. "No, I'm not sure. I think I am still hot." And getting hotter by the second. I moved closer to him, so that our thighs were touching. A jolt of frost shot through my leg and I couldn't help but shiver. It felt so _good_. I reached my fingers out to brush along his frozen cheek. I just had to lean in. I _had_ to press myself closer.

This time I was fully aware of it all. The way his lips itched closer to mine so agonizingly slowly. The way the numbed air around him engulfed me as he leaned in.

After an eternity, our clashing lips met. I couldn't help but love the feeling.

My hands immediately reached out for his snowy, weird, white hair. I almost thought my hot fingers were going to melt it. They were getting so lost in the abundance of snow, so deep into the white frost that I felt them begin to freeze. I felt his cool lips smash against my own in a wild, frenzied fashion. I felt him move even closer to me, until our bodies were pressed entirely together. He was completely on top of me, smashing my form into the purple ocean on the bed and hooked his legs around my waist. I felt his glacial digits skip around my hips, and I just had to part my lips and gasp and let his tongue in.

The slimy muscle licked its way through the hothothot cavern of my mouth, cooling everything in its path. I stretched my mouth open as wide as he could, so he could have as much room as possible. I wanted it so badly, needed it, anything.

His fingers still kept moving and swaying and dancing all over my midsection, and the arctic shots that it sent through my skin. The slender, frosty, little demons snuck higher and higher until they had slipped themselves underneath the hem of my cutoff t-shirt and began to roam and romp about my chest. They kept trailing up and up and up, and I crashed my hips upwards to collide with his as they brushed against sensitive skin. He ripped his maw away from mine to release a small groan. I couldn't help but smirk at the noise. He asked me what the bloody hell I was smiling about, and I reached up to peck a kiss on his cheek and smiled some more. He shot me a lustful glare and craned his neck so that he would be at a better angle to assault my own with his icy fangs—because, by the _Gods_, even his _teeth_ were cold. I wanted them to sink into my neck and pull feverish blood from my flesh and freeze it over. I wanted ruby icicles all over my skin.

My wish was granted soon enough, as he playfully nipped at my throat. I whimpered, but it wasn't enough. There was no way that he'd break the skin going _that_ slow.

"M—more," I had to whisper in his ear. "Harder. Harder, please."

He complied immediately, tearing deeply into my skin. My head snapped backwards as my eyes screwed themselves shut and my mouth parted and I let out a deep, deep, deep, loud, loud, loud moan. I felt his lips smirking against my neck. He tends to smirk a lot, my coldness.

I was definitely bleeding. I could feel the scalding liquid drip from the throat into his mouth. Just the thought of it, and I moaned again. He kept biting down harder. And I kept moaning. It was beautiful, freezing, bloody, cold bliss.

Eventually, he releases his vampiric hold on me and leans forebodingly over my form. His hard brown eyes are boring deeply into me, and I had to resist the urge to squirm under his gaze.

"Malik," His eyes never leaving mine. This was the first time that I'd ever heard him use my name, and I absolutely adored the way his rough, demonic, British accent pronounced it. He pulled his hands out from underneath my shirt, and held the lavender material in a death grip. The shirt was none-too-gracefully seized above my head and thrown unceremoniously to the side. His shivery aura smacked against my bare upper-half and I gave a small tremble. "Malik," He repeated. "Malik, you're so _warm_."

"I know. I don't like it. Make me cold." He bent over and captured my lips yet again.

"Only if you make me warm, my dear." His lips crack to form his now-signature grin. I gave a slight nod as he went to smother my mouth with his own. His refrigerated palms skated across my chest and I panted and arched my back and released all sorts of helpless, hopeless, little noises. My arms reached out to lock around his back and trace patterns all over it. They kept at their new little job until they itched lower and lower and found the border of his shirt. I gripped at it, and tried to elevate it across his chest, over his shoulders, and over his head, but failed due to the fact that his face was vacuum-sealed onto my own. I pulled away, for no longer than a nanosecond, in order to remove the garment and chuck it away to the nowhere where my own shirt was hidden.

"Wow," I breathed as he pressed his chest flush against me. I was shivering; it was brilliant. "You're really cold, you know that?"

"Yes," He looked at me, the tips of our noses touching. "Yes, I've been told that before," He chucked. "Though, I believe it was more cold in the 'heartless' sense than anything else…"

"I don't think you're heartless." I was all too quick to murmur to him.

"To be fair, we hardly met each other an hour or two ago. I don't even know your last name."

"Ishtar," I gasped as his hand brushed along a hipbone. "Malik Ishtar. And I really don't give a fuck as to how long it's been; I might as well have known you forever."

Another small dark laugh. "I think you're just saying that." He told me as his hands kept creeping lower and lower. Soon enough, they met the waistband of my new black pants. The fastening on them was soon undone and they were yanked from my legs. One less layer between us was driving me mad. But I'm already mad, aren't I? Because we're all mad. I'm mad and you're mad.

"Wh—why?" This conversation needed to end soon. All of the coherency and intelligence was flying away from my thoughts and I knew I could only speak to him for so much longer before I was reduced to a crying, whimpering, moaning, panting, hot, little mess.

"I think it has something to do with the fact that you're high as fuck and I have my hands down your pants." To emphasize his point, his brushed the frigid fingers across the bulge growing in my boxers. I had to bite my tongue to keep from wildly screaming.

"Sh…shu—shut up," I growled. "Either finish what you've started or leave or whatever, but just _shut up!_"

Smirksmirksmirk. How I'd love to rip those dirty smirking lips from his face! But then they couldn't kiss me anymore, diary. Then they couldn't love me.

"As you wish, sunshine," The final article of clothing separating him from my naked, needyneedy body was quickly torn apart and tossed to Ra-knows-where. "You're kind of pretty, you know," I could _feel_ his chocolaty eyes raking over my exposed corpse as he gazed at me. "Really pretty. Especially for a boy. Boys shouldn't be as pretty as you are."

I reached up and snaked my hands into his pallid locks as I heaved his skull downward and brought our lips together in an agonizing crash. "I thought I told you," I panted as I pulled away from him, my breath hot and heavy. "I thought I told you to: _Shut. Up_."

And within a matter of moments, he was pressing himself on me. He had rid himself of any and all attire in a ridiculously quick fashion, and ground his bare hips against mine and I was so breathy and gaspy and moany and all he was doing was growling and grunting a little and I was so insane! So insane, my dear diary! The madness of the situation only increased the volume of my screams as he rocked against me in such an intimate fashion.

"By the _Gods_!" I roared in his soft, pale, white, chilling face. "Please just _take me!_" I could nearly feel the tears prickling at my eyes as I writhed and shuddered and shook out of utter want.

He didn't even bother with a witty retort this time. He simply put a curt kiss to my hot, bruised, abused lips and rammed a finger into my entrance. The invasion was awkward at best, but I soon found myself adjusting to the feeling and started to gnash myself up against it. "More," I growled at him lowly. "Please. More." He grunted and heaved another finger in. He worked these two digits around, stretching and stretching and stretching me until I cried out because it really hurts to be touched like that. Really, it does.

"Now, _you_ shut up," He snarls. "You _asked_ for this. You fucking _begged_ for it. So shut up."

I complied as he continued to bury his fingers inside of me, working them around at different angles. I wanted to smack myself every time I let out a whimper.

The fingers were eventually pulled out, and I couldn't fucking keep myself from sighing in relief. However, my relief was _extremely_ short lived, as my body was soon impaled again. I screamed.

"Shut up!" He roared in my ear. His breath was so heavy and cold as it brushed against my neck as he nuzzled it. "Shut up, shut up, shut up." He pushed himself in deeper and I tried to keep myself from shrinking away from his touch. When he was finally all the way in, he asked me if I was ready. It was so hushed and quiet that I barely heard the question. Truth be told, I was definitely not ready. I hadn't expected to feel this hurt, this exposed, this ripped apart on the inside, this _insane_. But at the time, I didn't care. I told him to go on.

And, oh Gods, am I glad that I did.

He shoved himself back inside. And then pulled out again. And then slammed back in. He was panting and groaning and growling all the while. I saw beads of sweat collect on his forehead—was it possible that _he_ could be _hot? _No. That would make no sense. Then… why would he be sweating? Why would his breaths by so short? Why would—

"_Oh Gods!_" I have no idea what he did or what happened; all I knew was that on that particular thrust my eyes snapped open and I saw white everywhere and I felt as though I was going to explode. I was drowning in the beautiful freeze. It was going to kill me, I knew it, but it felt amazing. Death seemed like a small price to pay for this wonderful feeling. His lips found their way to my neck and he started to ravage it yet again. By this point I was rocking my hips and arching my back and squirming all over the place in order to meet him. Screams and moans and gasps kept swimming out of my lips and I was so hot that I was melting all over the place.

"You're so bloody loud," He growled out, separating his lips from my throat for a moment. "I bet all of your fucking little _ghosts_ can hear this." I smashed my fingers even deeper into his white tresses and—guess what—told him to shut up.

We continued our little dance for only so long, before he smashed into me a final time. I snarled loudly and gasped and groaned and moaned and exploded. He must've followed closely, for I heard a growl of my name and felt an icy liquid shoot inside of me.

He collapsed on top of me. Our bodies were flush against each other, and I could feel his glacial chest rising and falling and breathing against my own. He was breathing pretty heavily, and I can only imagine that I was, too. His arms were still locked around my waist, and my fingers were still lost in his hair, and my legs were still latched onto his hips (when did _that_ happen, anyway?) and he was still inside of me. It was sort of…nice. The hot was almost completely gone, and it was nice to just hold and be held so intimately. I nuzzled my nose into his neck and planted soft little kisses all over his white skin. He chuckled.

"We should probably leave," He pulled away just enough so that he could look me in the eyes. "How are you feeling? Still hot? Am I still cold? Can you see straight?"

"Fine. A little bit. Yes, freezing. And I don't think so." I answered him curtly and in order. He smiled at me and got up.

"C'mon, sunshine, get dressed," He threw my lavender shirt at my head as he pulled on his white jeans, because even his _clothing_ was artic-esque. "I'll take you home, okay?"

I gave him a smirk of my own as I yanked the fabric down over my head and began searching about for my pants—my _new_ pants. They were found in a corner on the opposite side of the room in a ball. I quickly slipped them on, and turned to Bakura, who was now fully dressed as well. I shot him a smile, and he shot me a smirk.

"Alright," He said, waltzing over to a window in the room and prying it open. "After you, princess."

"…Why are we going to be going out a window?" I asked, very incredulous-like. "And don't give me stupid nicknames. I hate that."

"I apologize, my dear," He bowed in a very gentlemanly fashion, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "And we're going through the window because, like I pointed out earlier, you're a very loud person," I felt a blush invade my cheeks. "And I _really_ don't wanna have to answer any awkward questions from that lot of semi-stoned freaks."

I had to agree with him on this point, and hopped out of a window, landing unceremoniously in a bush. I heard his barking laughter sounding out from above me. I gave a growl and he stepped out of the house, still smiling. "Come, princess," He told me. "Let's get you home." I directed him to my motorcycle, which he refused to let me drive, and walked it back home for me.

When we reached my house, he parked the bike in its appropriate place, and helped me crawl into my bedroom window. He scrawled a few numbers down on a piece of paper, and told me to call him if I could remember any of this in the morning. His frigid lips brushed against my cheek and I heard him whisper small pleas in my ear, shyly begging me to not forget.

"Please, princess," He smirked and looked me in the eyes, his hands holding my face. "Please try to remember this." He gave me a chaste kiss and made his exit.

And, oh Gods, diary. I will nevernevernever forget.


End file.
